


My Angel, Gabriel

by MissSavvy



Category: Hannibal (TV), Red Dragon - Thomas Harris
Genre: Angst, Big surprise, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hannibal is a son of a bitch, Kidnapping, M/M, Physical Abuse, how, i dont know, poor use of metaphors, will has a child, wills all sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 17:41:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1235335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSavvy/pseuds/MissSavvy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal Lecter ultimately met his end as the infamous Chesapeake Ripper at the hands of Will Graham. After escaping the asylum many years later, he visits a home in Wolf Trap, intent on returning the favor. </p><p>It's the sound of a child's voice that makes Hannibal realize that time has a way of changing everything... except maybe his dark heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Angel, Gabriel

**Author's Note:**

> Well, how about another fic where that evil bastard Hannibal Lecter spends all of his time hurting poor Will, because I'm a horrible person? Also, throw in a child. Because everyone knows how much Hannibal likes kids.
> 
> Unsure on how far I might like to go with this, if at all. I am not the best multi-chapter writer, but am willing to give it a shot. (:
> 
> hannibalsavvy.tumblr.com

Hannibal Lecter thought of Will Graham often while locked away in Baltimore. In fact, he spent the majority of his time sifting through the reserve of his memories, more often than not the ones that led to his incarceration and the one responsible.

The first time Hannibal met the avoiding eyes of the profiler, he knew the man would one day put together the blood-splattered pieces of the puzzle. At the time, the idea hardly frightened him. Rather, it excited him. It _enticed_ him. It fueled a need to carry on the most wicked of games with the empath. He wanted to taunt and push limits. He wanted to test strengths and weaknesses. And he wanted to understand someone who might one day fully understand the Ripper himself.

Time passed, and it was not long before interest and curiosity turned to desire and obsession.

"It's all very... theatrical," Will murmured one evening from the black leather of his usual chair, flicking his gaze slightly to the side rather than choosing to hold his psychiatrist's eyes.

"You've referred to him as an artist on more than one occasion. Surely such behavior hardly surprises," came the accented reply.

Will fidgeted, drumming the fingers of one hand against the armrest.

"It's more than that. He's taunting _me_ more than he is them. Every single crime scene he leaves gift-wrapped for my eyes alone to peel apart, layer by layer. Each layer as meticulously constructed as the last."

Such statements made Hannibal's pulse quicken, and in very much a good way. Heart warmed with satisfaction, enjoying the fruits of his labor as he admired the beautiful, empathetic mind he spent so much time picking apart; he resisted the urge to break his facade with a smirk as he deflected, "An absurdity concocted by your own imagination, Will. For what reason would he do so?"

Will shrugged his shoulders, hiding behind the closed lids of his eyes.

"He's courting me."

The psychiatrist tilted his head. Indulged the word choice.

In truth, nothing appeared more poetic to Hannibal Lecter than to capture the heart of a great adversary before devouring it whole.

* * *

 

Often, he replayed more _violent_ scenarios in his mind while his head rested against cool asylum walls, eyes closed.

He thought on scars. The bullet that pierced his flesh. The blade buried deep within Will's abdomen. The sounds of labored breathing and screams melted together; a serene composition as intensely sweet and dark as the chords of Chopin's symphonies indulged his senses.

He remembered lowering a shaking body to the floor, weak and broken.

"Even the most satisfying of games must one day reach its end, dear Will."

Their forms splayed across the floor of his office, he recalled tinging his fingers with the carmine colour of Will's blood and tracing the contours of the pained face beneath his own; the line of his young agent's jaw a quivering canvas. He openly breathed in the scent of a straining neck, as there was no longer a reason to remain discrete. Strange lips ghosted over those of his counterpart. He imagined the taste of his dear Will to be nothing less than the finest palate his tongue ever caressed. And the ache he felt as he prodded tense lips to test and savor sent shivers down the spines of both men for two entirely different reasons.

What occurred next felt entirely foreign, as Hannibal had never once been on the receiving end of genuine surprise. The click of a gun's release caught his ear before he felt the source of the wound. Red blossomed beneath the crisp linen of his dress shirt. He frowned down at his trembling creation, taking note of the obvious fear as well as the hint of satisfaction masked beneath it. For the first time in his life he found himself at a loss. Never in a thousand years did he truly believe he'd be the one at a disadvantage. Not like this. Not above his destined prey. It was almost amusing, this cruel sense of irony, as he slowly collapsed - lion upon lamb.

Impress hit him harder than regret.

He spoke clearly, as he was accustomed to pain. His accent hardly faltered.

"You possess an unclouded sense of sight, Will. I wonder where your mind will travel, once we've parted."

Flashing lights illuminated the dark office moments later; the sound of a door being torn from its hinges followed. He had warned Jack prior, that much was obvious. No longer would he be playing the part of a fool.

"I imagine when we'll cross paths once again."

Altered circumstances would serve to prolong their game; their injuries were far from superficial, but not fatal. There would be more. There had to be more. He was a beautiful challenge all in himself.

"Blindness is not the worst obstacle I've had to overcome, Dr. Lecter," Will managed, softly.

Not until then did the Good Doctor consider that he might have misjudged Will Graham entirely. As he was pulled away from the bloodied, awakened thing on the floor of his office, he felt a pang of sorrow at the thought of their final therapy session coming to a close.

* * *

 

Nearly a decade had passed. Rudeness, a violation of human dignity - this was exactly what the night orderly displayed as he passed by a darkened cell, the clinging sound of a baton hitting bars in the dead of night without so much as a thought to whom resided behind them.

Hannibal never felt bad about killing; sometimes he dared label his actions a public service.

The forth routine stroll down the line of cells earned the offender nothing short of a crushed windpipe, neck pinned between metallic bars and the baton pulled from a slippery grip.

Hannibal Lecter swept his tongue over the blood that stained his iron cage.

* * *

 

Lingering in the shadows of a home in Wolf Trap, he admired the glowing embers that rested inside a familiar hearth. Flames danced across a darkened room, reflecting light upon a chair-ridden Will Graham. A warm, nearly unaged complexion graced the features of a man stolen by sleep. The idea of disturbing a scene as picture perfect as this kept him locked in place; he thought of how long he'd been deprived of a pencil and scalpel. He could make do with a blade and body alone, if he truly desired it. He wondered how Will would feel, considering that he himself was the Ripper's sole font of inspiration, never more than now.

The creak of a floorboard brought him back to reality and the faint smile he had allowed to play at his lips instinctively turned back into that of an emotionless facade. He remained still, hidden - a hint of confusion hitting him as a small, innocent thing slid down a wooden staircase and stumbled across the living room.

"Daddy," the word was spoken quietly but with worry. Small hands pushed against a father's leg, forcing Will Graham's lids to flutter, before the tiny thing claimed, " _Monster_."

The older man shifted in his seat, stretching his neck before opening his eyes to meet those of a child, "There's no monster," came a tired reply, coupled with a yawn, "We made sure last night, remember?"

The words didn't comfort the kid a bit, "Yes there _is_ ," an audible pout, "I heard it," he continued, curling small arms around a blue-jeaned calve. Will rested a hand upon a mop of brown hair as untamed as his own. And Hannibal watched. Understanding, fascination, and displeasure coursing through him.

His perfect picture was suddenly obstructed by the view of Will Graham's own flesh and blood.

"Nothing can hurt you here," and the fondness Will spoke with shocked Hannibal to the absolute core, "Not while I'm around."

Will picked up and held the boy to his chest, who seemed content to quiet himself instead of agreeing or disagreeing. The father rubbed small circles into his back, calming him.

While perfectly silent, dark eyes glinted dangerously - and as Will Graham's eyes wandered off into the depths beyond his living room and into the dark kitchen Hannibal stood rigidly within, he was almost certain the empath caught his glare by the way his arms momentarily tightened around the form of his son. But he couldn't be sure.

Will stared right through him, for the longest time. Hannibal supposed that he was internally fighting his certainty and questioning his reality. But when he spoke, his words were collected. Perhaps not.

"Alright," he said, pulling back from the young thing and holding his sleepy gaze, "Will you promise to go to sleep, if I promise everything will be okay?"

Quiet murmurs of agreement were barely caught by Hannibal's ears, but the sight of a child being carried up a staircase remained with him as the pair disappeared. He considered for a moment how much his former patient still managed to surprise him, up until the sounds of heavy steps of said patient were heard from his eventual return and descent. Will Graham walked timidly, stopping in the threshold separating kitchen from hearth and stared into blackness. Hannibal could hear him draw in a bottom, dried lip before speaking.

"I know you're here.... I can see you."

In truth, he cannot, and so he corrects himself after a moment of silence, swallowing,

"I can sense you."

Hannibal watches, glides his hand over the smooth surface of a counter top, but refrains from revealing himself entirely. If Will truly wanted that, he would have lifted the cloak of darkness with the flick of a light-switch.

"Is he much like you, Will? Does he often wake in a cold sweat from the demons who plague his broken dreams?" His voice was low, dangerous - the same sort of malicious pur WIll remembers hearing when Hannibal sent him to the floor, stainless steel lodged within his flesh. Will shudders.

"What is his name?"

He feels afraid. He considers flight. But he knows acting upon it would put more than his own life at risk.

"Gabe," he pronounces softly, gripping the edge of a wall, "Gabriel."

He hears Hannibal hum, "Coincidental? Naming an angel to rival your Lucifer?"

Will takes offense, replies coolly, "I never once kept you in mind, Dr. Lecter."

It startles him, the quick movement - the sudden feel of a rough grip on his collar and the force of a wall meeting his back. Hannibal is no longer a voice in his mind; he's there, pressing against him, a curled lip in expression. Everything about him tangible and every aspect entirely real.

He feels the flesh of his wrists bruised and pinned beneath strong, highly capable hands.

"I know your mind better than anyone else. I know what lurks in the darkness of your thoughts. Do not deny my existence within them, Will," the hiss a hot whisper against his flesh. Will struggles against the burning sensation, but instead is pushed more firmly into the wall as the blonde continues,"I thought about you, Will. I thought about many scenarios; all of which ended with your heart resting in the palm of my hand. Does that distress you?"

"Of course it - _fucking_ does," WIll chokes, hissing when a faint trace of carnivorous teeth graze his neck, before sputtering, almost sarcastically -

"You don't want to kill me, though."

The nuzzling teeth at his neck pause. Will can feel the flicker of a smile spread against his skin. Hannibal speaks softly into his ear, "If I had wanted you to die in my office, it would have been so."

"You care for me in some sick, twisted way," the empath points out.

Hannibal pulls back, holds a serious, terrifying line of sight. Will finds it strange how such cold looks can contain such strong emotion.

"Yes."

"I hate you for it," the young man admits, "I hate you."

Hannibal's expression softens, he adopts the faintest of smirks.

"And I hate your puzzling decision to invest in family. A truly boring choice for a brilliant mind to make. Don't tell me you've married, hmm?"

Will's throat tightens, "She's gone."

"Pity."

There's not a trace of it in his voice, and the empath knows it. He starts shaking his head - tries to steady himself. "You need to leave - it's only a matter of time before Jack shows up at my door."

Hannibal nods, "I intend to, Will. But I will not leave this place alone."

Will trembles, swallows - struggles to find a voice, " _No_."

Hannibal clicks his tongue and raises a brow, "Then shall I stay? Perhaps I might spend time with your darling son."

"Yeah. Over my dead body," the empath nearly growls, surprising himself - but he means every word. He feels rough hands slowly leave his wrists, one hand moving to rest at the pulse of his neck, and the foreign, blood-like eyes of the serpent before him glint as he counts the beats of a fluttering heart.

"I'm not inclined to allow you that option, just yet."

Will's lips part, threatened and unsure of his words. "What do you want from me?"

The doctor strokes his pulse point with the pad of his thumb. He notes over a hundred beats per minute.

"Everything you might offer, and anything I might take."

Will bites his tongue - hardly a fair sentence.

His eyes close, then dart up for a brief moment. He hopes he has imagined the creak of a floorboard above-head. He strains to keep their exchange at the level of a whisper.

"And what about Gabriel?" and the look he gives him is desperate.

Hannibal blinks, considering the element of surprise he'd been introduced to not minutes beforehand, before fully deciding.

"He will be fine, I assure you," the accented voice flows, dark and controlled - it's a voice to be believed. But Will can only pray for that sort of truth.

"Then I will go with you."

One hundred and twenty-two beats per minute. The hand curls around his neck more firmly, and Lecter acknowledges the acceptance with no half-smirk, but a full smile.

"I had hoped so."

Another strong hand grips at his neck, and Will Graham struggles for breath before he even realizes it's been stolen from him to begin with.

"Precaution, Will."

The lazily spoken words accompany Will as he falls into unconscious darkness, but he retains and knows that he is a fool.

A hallmark of a Deal with The Devil is that it always comes at an unsavory cost.


End file.
